Treachery
by Sarah1281
Summary: Arl Howe's treachery takes Bryce Cousland completely by surprise. He should have seen this coming and now he has no idea if his family is even alive or how to get to them, he doesn't think he'll survive leaving, and they don't want to leave without him.


Treachery

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Teyrn Bryce Cousland was a little more worried about Ostagar than he had let on. The king had made it sound like it was only an incursion and had assured them that if they acted quickly and decisively then they could end the threat before it spread into the more occupied parts of Ferelden. Bryce wanted to believe him but darkspawn had always disturbed him. He'd seen a small group of them once during the rebellion and even thirty years later the horrific sight and stench of them stayed with him.

"Relax, Bryce," his friend Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, urged. "This darkspawn threat is no doubt just Cailan blowing a minor problem out of proportion. You know how he gets about the prospect of a glorious war 'just like in the tales!' I know most of the Bannorn aren't even sending troops."

"That's entirely possible but _do_ try to remember, Rendon, that Cailan is our king and we owe him our respect and loyalty," Bryce said firmly.

"You're always so worried about propriety and the like," Rendon said, amused, as he shook his head. "You might have been king yourself, Bryce; I don't think Cailan's going to throw a tantrum if you drop the formality every now and again."

"I feel that proper etiquette says more about the man employing it than the man it is addressed to," Bryce explained.

Rendon's smile dimmed. "Yes, I suppose so."

"Maker, I feel too old to go to war," Bryce said suddenly. "I know I've been joking about the 'good old days' but my time in the rebellion was some of the most miserable of my life. I was too young to really understand the oppression we were under for most of my time pre-rebellion and even if I knew how necessary it was, it was never pleasant. I'd hoped to have been able to fight my war and move on. I'd hoped that my children could have known peace for longer."

"The Bannorn gets into skirmishes every time the wind blows, it seems," Rendon pointed out. His face had darkened as it always had when the rebellion came up but, as usual, he said nothing about it. Even now, thirty years later, Rendon was still unhappy about the need to seize the town of Harper's Ford from the Howes and to hang his grandfather, Arl Terleton Howe, as a traitor. Since Rendon's father Padric had taken off for parts unknown in a quest to become a Grey Warden and never contacted them again, Terleton had stepped up and taken Rendon as his heir. Bryce hadn't relished the thought of killing a man that was nearly ninety but Terleton was firmly on the side of the Orlesians and they'd been left with very little choice. Rendon had never been particularly fond of the Wardens since his father had left so perhaps it was for the best that Duncan had been by with that dwarven girl and recruited Ser Gilmore before he had arrived. "Surely you realize that keeping little Anastasia and Fergus away from combat isn't realistic. Well, not since you had Anastasia trained as a warrior."

"As Teyrn, I'm above the Bannorn's internal power struggles," Bryce replied. "And I know you'll never agree with me, old friend, but even though I would be perfectly happy if my daughter never saw real combat in her life, I simply could not consider myself a good father if I didn't give her the means to fight. Eleanor was a battle maiden in the rebellion, if you'll remember, and neither one of us wanted to raise a damsel in distress."

"If she's weren't a warrior, however, when would she ever find herself in need of fighting? She's a Teyrn's daughter; she'd have guards," Rendon argued.

"I don't know when she would ever be in a position where she'd be all alone and under attack but if the worst should happen, I wouldn't want her to be helpless. Maker knows I would never want anything to happen to your Delilah but if it did and she were called upon to save herself then she wouldn't have the skills to do it," Bryce said gravely. "And I know that Anastasia would be much better prepared in such a situation. Besides, she's far better than any of my guards anyway. Duncan wouldn't admit it, but I knew that he only took Ser Gilmore as a consolation prize. He really had his eye on my daughter."

"With the rite of conscription, he could have taken her," Rendon remarked. "At least I won't have to worry about that with Delilah."

"I did keep that in mind," Bryce replied. "But he assured me that he had no intention of resorting to that and as I never left the pair alone together, she didn't have time to make plans to run off. Duncan knows that stealing my daughter from me would cause more trouble than it's worth."

"For a supposedly apolitical order, they sure do know how to stay in favor with those with real power," Rendon said a little mockingly. "Haven't you ever worried that training Anastasia as a warrior would lessen her marriage prospects? There are those in this world who do not approve of women fighting."

"Those such as yourself," Bryce translated. "And yet that's never seemed to stop you from trying to set her up with Thomas."

"Well, Delilah was a little young to try to match up with Fergus," Rendon explained. "And we're old friends so of _course_ I would seek to strengthen the ties that bind our families together."

"It would be something, wouldn't it?" Bryce asked, a little wistfully. "But Anastasia is her own woman and never particularly interested in him. Your elder son, Nathaniel, on the other hand…"

"Truly, it is a shame that he's learning so much in the Free Marches," Rendon sighed, shaking his head. "I haven't the heart to call him back. I'm sure he'll return of his own accord sooner or later."

"He'll have to or risk eventually losing the Arling to his sister," Bryce agreed.

"Delilah may be my second-oldest child but I really think that, in the event that Nathaniel cannot be my heir, _Thomas_ would be a more suitable heir," Rendon corrected him.

Bryce held back a sigh of his own. By his estimates, practical Delilah would make a far better Arlessa than her flighty, daydreaming brother but Rendon had never really been comfortable with women having any sort of power be it in politics or the field of battle. That was actually one of the biggest issues he had had with Cailan: it was clear that he simply wasn't interested in the day-to-day business of ruling and would leave that to Anora. It was also why Rendon had spearheaded the movement to make Bryce king but a slightly fancier title held no appeal to him when he looked at all the restrictions he and his family would have to deal with that they didn't have to when ruling their teynir.

"If a man were to be unaccepting of Anastasia's fighting then he's not the sort of man I would want as a wife to my daughter and a father to my granddaughters," Bryce declared. "And Anastasia would probably react less favorably to the idea than I would. Besides, as an heir to Highever and the only eligible female Cousland, do you _really_ think she'll have any sort of problems finding a husband when she decides to take one?"

"Perhaps not," Rendon conceded. "Of course, we can't all be so lucky."

Bryce was about to respond when he heard the faint sound of battle. He stood. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Rendon asked, looking puzzled as he stood as well.

"I don't know, it sounds almost like-" Bryce started to say before the door slammed open to reveal Howe's own guards who slowly filed into the room. There looked to be about a dozen of them standing all in a row, their expressions identical grim masks. He opened his mouth to ask what they thought they were doing when a sharp pain in his midsection stopped him. He looked down stupidly to see a sword protruding from his stomach. A sword whose hilt Rendon's hand was still clutching. "W-what?"

"Whoops," Rendon said with a smirk, his tone deceptively innocent. "Guess my hand must have slipped. _So_ sorry, old friend."

"Rendon…you…why?" Bryce gasped out as Rendon yanked the sword from him and casually began wiping it free of blood – _his_ blood.

"Oh, who knows?" Rendon asked airily. "Maybe this is payback for what you and your father did to my grandfather during the rebellion, maybe I have proof that you're in league with the Orlesians, maybe I'm sick of your daughter continuing to snub my son, maybe I never quite got over Eleanor, maybe I've become unbalanced in recent years, maybe I feel I deserved more and that you Couslands have been holding me back, or maybe I'm **just that evil**. History will pick one of those, I suppose, but you won't be there to see which. I will, though, and I know which one I'd prefer."

"You'll…never get away with this," Bryce forced out. This was all happening so fast. One minute he and an old family friend were having a light-hearted conversation about the planned battle at Ostagar and their daughters and the next he was attacked and his castle under attack. Fergus had left with the main army and now the reason for Rendon's forces' continued delay was all too clear. If it weren't for the pain in his abdomen, he wouldn't be able to believe that any of this was real.

"And why ever not?" Rendon drawled. "Oh, _bandits_. That's another possibility. It was dreadful, you know. If only I had been there…"

"You treacherous bastard," Bryce growled.

"My, my, such language," Rendon said mockingly. "I'm wounded, really. And you wonder why I don't like you. If you're going to be so uncouth then I simply must take my leave of you. I have a lot to do anyway and these people won't just massacre _themselves_, you know."

"Touch my family and I'll-" Bryce began to threaten.

"And you'll what?" Rendon asked, unimpressed. "Face facts, Bryce; you're dead already. Don't feel too badly, though. You're pathetic excuse for a family will join you soon enough. It's a good thing that you trained Anastasia to fight, you know. Maybe now she'll be able to die on her feet like the man she wants so desperately to be instead of in one of my men's bed like a whore."

Bryce lunged at Rendon but in his weakened state, the man just kicked him away dismissively before turning and leaving without another word, his men following close behind him. It was the ultimate insult. Rendon didn't even think he was enough of a thread to finish off personally and just left him to bleed out without anyone watching him.

That actually worked in Bryce's favor, however, as it gave him an opportunity to get out of here and find Eleanor and Anastasia and warn them what was happening. Oriana and Oren couldn't fight – he'd never cursed Antivan notions of gender roles more than he did right now – and so they'd be even more at risk than his wife and daughter. He gingerly pushed himself back to his knees. He doubted he could stand on his own right now but he could at least crawl towards the door and…and what, he really didn't know but there had to be _something_ that he could do. He couldn't just let it end like this!

Eventually, he managed to reach the door (and pointedly ignored the trail of blood he was leaving behind him) and push it open. His heart stopped as he saw feet right outside of the door. Had Rendon left one of his men stationed outside the room in case he tried to escape?

"M-my lord?" a more familiar voice asked, stunned. Bryce relaxed marginally. This was one of his knights: Ser Michael. "What happened to you?"

"Arl Rendon Howe did," Bryce replied grimly. "Please, have you heard anything of my family?"

Michael shook his head. "No, we haven't although a few knights have been sent to find them. Most of Howe's men are outside the castle. We've been able to more-or-less hold our own and so even though most of the non-fighting personnel have died, we knights haven't taken many casualties yet. We're holding the door but once they succeed in getting it open…well, let's just say you and the others had best be out by then."

Bryce nodded. "I'm in no condition to be fighting like this so I'll have to trust my wife and daughter to be able to make their way safely to me. Ser Michael, I need you to take me to the kitchen."

"The kitchen?" Michael repeated quizzically.

"Aye. There is a secret passage of sorts, a servant's entrance in the larder. Eleanor always said that if we should ever find ourselves under attack in our own castle, we should meet up there so we could all escape," Bryce revealed. Seeing the look on Michael's face, he managed a weak chuckle. "She doesn't actually believe it's possibly to be **too **prepared."

"And it would appear that the Teyrna wasn't," Michael noted. "I can get you to the larder but I'll need to bandage your wounds first or you'll never make it. It seems you've already lost quite a bit of blood."

Bryce wanted to protest that they had no time for such things but Michael was, unfortunately, right about him. He had a large gaping hole in his abdomen and leaving it untreated would just make it worse.

"There's no time to clean it, unfortunately," Michael said, grabbing some drapes and pulling them down. "But if you survive long enough to get an infection then I'll consider my efforts here a success." He began to tear a strip from the fabric.

Bryce kept as still as he could while waiting for Michael to finish with the makeshift bandages. All he wanted to do was to reassure himself that Rendon hadn't gotten to his family. Still, if he were fidgety he might make Michael mess up and need to take longer. The seconds crept by deceptively slow as Michael worked. At last, the man pulled back and offered Bryce his hand. "Lean on me, I'll get you to the larder. You know every man you have here would die to protect you."

"I do," Bryce confirmed gravely. "I just regret that it's come to that."

Leaning heavily on Michael, Bryce managed to make his way down the hall and towards the larder. On the way there, he saw a few of Rendon's men but his own people kept the fighting well away from him. There were no bodies in the kitchen or the larder, for which Bryce was grateful. He hadn't particularly expected Nan or the elven servants to still be working and he was glad not to need to wait with corpses.

"Will you be alright here?" Michael asked, clearly reluctant to leave him. "I could stay if you really-"

"I'll be fine here," Bryce promised. "Just get out there and held coordinate the defenses."

"Yes, my lord," Michael said, bowing his head. "I…it's been an honor, ser."

And then he was gone and there was nothing but to wait. The worst part of waiting was that now there was nothing to distract him from his physical pain and from his desperate fears about his family. Were they alright? They had to be alright. Eleanor and Anastasia both slept with a dagger under their pillow and a sword within reach and Oren and Oriana's room was right between theirs. Every moment that he passed alone here in the larder was another moment that he felt his hope growing dimmer. Michael had done an adequate job of bandaging his wounds but Rendon's thrust had been deep and true. He needed healing magic and he needed it _now_ but there were no mages around at all, let alone healers. This…this was very bad. Why had this happened? How long had Rendon been planning it? Why hadn't he noticed? Was this his fault?

Bryce's attention was drawn suddenly to the sound of footsteps outside the door. He held his breath. This was the moment of truth. Had his family finally made it here or had Rendon's men found him, thus preventing anyone else from getting out of the castle this way?

Eleanor, Anastasia, and her mabari Rabbit rushed in and Bryce breathed a sigh of relief. "There... you both are. I was... wondering when you would get here." It hurt almost too much too speak which really didn't bode well for his chances of making it out of here alive.

"Bryce!" Eleanor cried, falling to her knees beside him. "Maker's blood, what's happening? You're bleeding!"

"I was with Ren-with _Howe_," Bryce corrected himself. "We were talking and I heard fighting in the hall. His men came in and then when I wasn't looking, Howe stabbed me. Ser Michael helped me get here."

"He told us that you'd come here to wait for us," Anastasia told him. "He's a good man."

"Where are Oren and Oriana?" Bryce asked urgently.

Anastasia looked away.

Gently, Eleanor broke the news. "Howe's men knew that they couldn't fight and so they were killed before they went after Anastasia."

Bryce froze. Oren was but a child. Unbidden, his son's words from earlier danced through his mind. _"Son, you will see a sword up close real soon. I promise."_ And now he had in the worst possible manner. And Oriana…he wondered vaguely which one had died first. A child should never see his parent die or vice versa.

"They weren't messing around," Anastasia said grimly. "Iona – that's Lady Landra's maid – opened the door and they cut her down right there."

That really wasn't the time to be asking why she had been in Anastasia's room in the first place. Dear Maker, he was never going to get another chance to be a concerned father to this girl again, was he?

"We must get you out of here!" Eleanor cried out, panicking slightly. "Howe's men will find this passage sooner or later."

"I…won't survive the standing, I fear," Bryce confessed, trying to stay dignified in the face of that horrible truth. He was never going to leave here.

"Are you sure, Bryce?" Eleanor asked softly, desperately.

"Yes," Bryce answered her simply. "The castle is surrounded. I could never make it."

"Then I will stay here with you," Eleanor said quietly but with conviction. "And kill anyone who tries to go through those doors."

"As will I," Anastasia said loyally.

Bryce shook his head in silent horror. No. No. The sentiment was a sweet one, he supposed, but couldn't they see that he was dying? Howe's men might never find this room and nothing could change the fact he wouldn't live to see morning. His wife and daughter, on the other hand, were perfectly healthy if traumatized from the night's events. He hated the fact that he was dying, he hated the fact that Oren and Oriana were dead already, and he didn't want any more people he loved to die. "Someone…someone has to find Fergus, tell him what happened. Howe may have something planned for him, too, so he must be warned. Someone has to tell King Cailan what happened. If we all die, then Howe may tell them whatever story he wishes and though they may doubt they will have no proof and without proof or even an accusation, they cannot act."

"Darling, you need to leave," Eleanor said firmly to Anastasia. "You and Rabbit have a better chance of making it without me holding you back. You're both far younger and in better shape than I am. I would never forgive myself if I got you killed."

"Mother…" Anastasia said sorrowfully.

"Eleanor, I agree that our daughter must not die of Howe's treachery but live and make her mark on the world. She can find the king and her brother and they can take vengeance on Howe and reclaim our home. But _you_ need to go as well," Bryce tried to tell her. "Howe's men aren't here yet, it will be fine."

"Hush, Bryce. I'm not leaving you," Eleanor said, cupping his face lovingly. " 'Til death do we part', remember? Besides, you might think the risk is worth it but I don't. I will kill every last bastard who comes through that door and buy Anastasia the time she needs to escape."

"I…understand," Bryce said resignedly. It wasn't so bad, to die with the one you loved. He just wished things had been different and he didn't feel like he was abandoning his daughter. He wished he could die years in the future in his own bed surrounded by his very-much-alive family instead of hiding in the larder.

"Don't _I_ get a say in this?" Anastasia demanded, her voice full of anger. "I can't just leave you two to die while I escape unscathed. How could I ever explain that to Fergus? How could you ask me to walk away knowing that I'm condemning you to death?"

"I'm dying anyway and your mother will die regardless of whether you stay or not," Bryce told her. "Howe has too many men."

"You say you don't want to leave us to die," Eleanor told her. "Well don't make us watch _you_ die. A parent should never outlive their children and I already held my grandson's body earlier tonight."

Anastasia flinched and Bryce could tell her resolve was weakening. He pressed the advantage, feeling like a horrible person for doing so but knowing that it was necessary to save her. "And would you really leave your brother all alone in this world and with no idea of what Howe is up to? What if he invites Fergus to speak with him about the matter and stabs him as he did me? Or poisons him? Or any number of vile things, really?"

"I…I can't," Anastasia cried, looking lost.

"You are a Cousland, Anastasia," Bryce said firmly. He couldn't lose his baby girl, too. Not on top of everything. "And a Cousland always does their duty. Your duty right now is to leave us, to live, to go find your brother. Your duty is to make sure that our line doesn't end here and that we get justice."

Anastasia blinked several times, fighting back her tears. "I'll do my duty," she said hollowly. "Maker help me, but I will." She took a few tentative steps towards the path leading to the outside of the castle before turning back. "I love you both so much."

"And we love you," Eleanor said with as much warmth as she could muster. "Tell your brother that as well. And that we're very proud of you both."

Anastasia forced herself to look away and then took off running, Rabbit following closely behind her.

"So that's it," Bryce said quietly. "Fergus is safe for now at Ostagar and Anastasia's on her way there now. There's nothing more to do but wait, is there?"

"It's all up to our children, now," Eleanor agreed, equally subdued. "They'll be okay, I think. They'll have each other and they're both so very strong. I wish they didn't have to be but it will serve them well in the days to come."

"I'm sorry," Bryce apologized suddenly.

Eleanor drew back, surprised. "Sorry? What ever for, Bryce? We've had a good life and done the best we could. I don't think that anyone can ask for more than that."

"For not seeing this coming. Howe was supposed to be _my_ friend and _I_ invited him into our home, I sent Fergus off with most of our forces…this could all rightly be called my fault," Bryce explained.

Eleanor shook her head. "No. I don't think you should be blaming yourself. None of us saw this coming."

"I should have," Bryce insisted stubbornly.

"It's a little late for 'should haves', don't you think?" Eleanor asked rhetorically. "And we don't have so much time left that we should spend it on regrets."

"You're right," Bryce said heavily. "As usual."

There were footsteps outside and the door swung open.

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